


A ticket costs only your mind

by Builder



Series: Jonestown [1]
Category: Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Depression, Drug Use, Eventual Romance, F/F, Family Dynamics, Friendship, Guilt, Hangover, Headaches & Migraines, How do I even start, Sickfic, Vomiting, the bartons finally have the right number of kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 05:52:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12270204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Jess moans into her knees.  “I was just…feeling so nauseous.”“Tell me you’re not nauseous now,” Nat snaps, her eye-roll apparent in her voice.“You don’t have to help me.  I’m a killer.  I’m not worth it…” Jess trails off.“I’m not going to respond to that,” Nat says.  “But I am going to say that we might need to re-evaluate what you’re doing.  If you’re going to self-destruct every time there’s a civilian casualty, you’re in the wrong line of work.  The team can’t afford this.”_________________________________________Jessica Jones joins up with the Avengers, but the adjustment isn't going well.  She's on the path to self-destruction, but the Barton family is prepared to help.  And so is Natasha, in her own way.





	A ticket costs only your mind

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so this story was...a long time coming. It ended up being something very different from what it started as. 
> 
> This is a crossover. I'm fairly sure Netflix marvel will never cross paths with movie marvel, so this is all just in my head (and I dearly hope it stays that way, I'm not into speculation). In general, I do not do crossovers, so please don't ask for any others! I could possibly be up for doing more with this character set, though...
> 
> Also, I write so much Stucky that I thought it was a good time to put out a little wlw to make up for it...
> 
> Alright, here you go. Warnings are in the tags. Visit me on Tumblr @builder051.

_My name is Jonas…I’m carrying the wheel._

__

Jess pushes the earbud further into her ear and clicks up the volume on her iPhone. 

 

__Thanks for all you’ve shown us…This is how we feel._ _

__

She pushes her dark hair back off her forehead and drags her hand down the side of her face.  Jess’s fingers linger on her lower lip, and she lightly taps in time with the soft guitar melody.

 

__Come sit next to me…Pour yourself some tea._ _

__

Her head aches.  Jess clicks the volume up again, which is probably counterproductive to alleviating her physical ills.  But generally, the louder the music, the quieter the voices.

 

__Just like Grandma made when we couldn’t find sleep…_ _

__

Jess knows she won’t sleep.  She’s already swallowed a couple doses of melatonin with sips of jaeger straight from the bottle, and though her body’s relaxed, she’s not drowsy.  Jess isn’t sure she wants to sleep anyway.  If she’s compulsively reliving the day’s horrendous events while awake, she’ll likely continue in her dreams. 

 

The song shifts into a louder guitar riff, and Jess tries to focus solely on the sound, burrow under it and let the chords provide a barrier between her sense of self and the cold , whispering pressure of the echoes of today.  But using a punk song as a security blanket is awkward, like trying to escape gunfire behind a chain-link fence.  There are too many spaces, too little consistency. As soon as the melody changes, Jess hears the resonance of bone cracking beneath her palms and the whole thing starts to replay in her mind. 

 

Jess sucks in her lower lip and decides this is futile.  She has a couple marijuana cigarettes and bottle of Percocet stowed in her dresser.  It’s only 11 at night, but it feels like she’s been sitting uncomfortably on the aftermath of this man’s death for hours. 

 

It’s not killing people that fucks with her.  Taking out evil maniacs is part of the job now, part of what makes life worth living.  It’s just that this time, she didn’t mean to.  And when her own body begins to lose understanding of the line drawn between the amount of pressure needed to stop a heart versus the amount needed to re-start one, she begins to worry.

 

She slowly pushes herself up off the bed, letting the earbud slide out and bounce off the mattress.  She crosses to the dresser and opens the top drawer.  Jess shifts her folded tank tops and feels for her small stash.  She finds the Percocet first, stored in a neat orange prescription bottle.  The faded label shows it was prescribed to her.  Eighteen months ago when she had shoulder surgery, but still, prescribed to her.  It doesn’t betray that it’s been refilled a couple of times with tablets ordered from the darker depths of the Internet. 

 

Jess dry swallows two of the large chalky pills and puts the bottle away.  She runs her tongue over her teeth, trying to dispel the bitter taste, and attempts to locate one of the loose joints she knows is in the drawer somewhere.  Her fingers close on the tight roll of paper, and Jess puts it between her lips to hold as she searches down the lighter. 

 

She feels the little plastic rectangle and is about to bring it up to light her cigarette when there’s a knock on the closed bedroom door.  Jess freezes.  There are a thousand things she could do. Hide the joint and answer the door, flop back on the bed and pretend to be asleep, hold her phone to her ear and act busy.  But the sound of her own ragged breathing and the thump of chest compressions hangs like a fog in her mind, and all Jess can do is stand there.

 

The door opens.  Nat gives Jess a once-over.  “Ok,” she says, stepping into the bedroom.  Jess removes the cigarette from between her lips and clasps it in her hands, which are resting on the edge of the open dresser drawer. 

 

Jess doesn’t go to great lengths to hide her substance use, but she’s not open about it either.  Nat knows; she’s seen Jess drunk and high before.  She just hasn’t walked in on her in the act yet. Well, there’s a first time for everything.

 

“I just wanted to see if you were ok,” Nat starts.  “And apparently you’re not, so…”

 

Nat pauses, probably to let Jess chime in, but Jess stays silent.  She bites her lower lip and looks down. 

 

“You can smoke,” Nat says.  “I mean, you don’t have to hide it from me.”

 

Jess nods.  She’s comfortable around Nat, so her anxiety hasn’t spiked, but it hasn’t reduced either.  She’s in just as much pain as she was a moment ago, but she’s lost her desire for the joint.  Jess releases the rolled paper into the drawer.  She racks her hand up the side of her face, across her forehead, and up into her stringy hair.  Jess takes two steps back and sinks down on the end of her bed. 

 

“Hey,” Nat says softly, perching beside Jess, “What’s going on?”

 

Jess sighs.  It’s so difficult to put into words.  Challenging to explain what’s bothering her and how something so constant and so helpful is also overwhelming and depressing.  It’s nothing to Jess use her strength to smash a doorknob or permanently ruin someone’s facial symmetry during a skirmish.  She has no problem taking a life when the time is right.  But then, there are times when she’s tired, mental walls wearing thin.  And then there’re usually a few pieces of bent silverware or cars missing their door handles.  And like today, the occasional civilian casualty.  She can let herself perseverate the death and take the enormous emotional toll, or she can fight it with distraction and drugs and take the pressure physically.  Given the choice between guilt-ridden panicked nightmares or sick headaches, Jess goes with the headaches.

 

“Jess?” Nat asks, laying a hand on the thigh of Jess’s thin, saggy jeans. 

 

Jess sighs.  “I just…I don’t know,” she murmurs.  Her voice is heavy and rough.  She feels like she could cry, but there’s no pressure of impending tears.  Jess feels her heart beating heavy and loud, and it’s unnerving.  “It’s just a lot.”  She balances her elbows on her knees and bows forward with her head in her hands. 

 

Nat moves her hand to Jess’s back.  “Is it…about this afternoon?  I, um, heard what happened.”  Nat sort of knows what gets to Jess, the way she sort of knows Jess uses.  All the Avengers know each other’s strengths and weaknesses in a vague sort of way.  Most of them, Jess included, are too sensitive to really discuss their issues with the team. 

 

Jess nods.  “Yeah.  I, uh.  It was…completely my fault.”  She tilts her head to the side, bringing on a wave of vertigo.  “Just totally crushed his sternum…”

 

“Oh god,” Nat says

 

“Was just trying to do some good, you know?” Jess says.  Her jaw feels slack.  She retracts her hands into the sleeves of her sweatshirt and presses the fabric-swathed fists into her face again. Drug-induced brutal honesty seeps out of Jess.  “Would’ve been better if I hadn’t even tried.”  She takes a deep breath.

 

“Have you tried to sleep?”  Nat asks, ignoring Jess’s comment.

 

“Yeah,” Jess says.  “Doesn’t really help.  There are…bad dreams.”

 

“Ok,” Nat says understandingly.  “You want to get out of here?  Take a drive?  Would that help?”

 

Jess hadn’t thought of that.  It actually might.  Replace the usual background of city noise and familiar triggers with somewhere new, somewhere different.  It could be more peaceful.  Or at least distracting. 

 

“Yeah.  Yeah, but…I took…stuff,” Jess admits.  She may not have a strong instinct for self-preservation, but she does know a DUI is not something she wants. 

 

“What stuff?”  Nat asks.

 

“Melatonin.  Percocet.”  Jess feels like the jaeger is probably a given.

 

“And you’re still conscious?” Nat says with a note of incredulity.  “You feel really bad, huh?” 

 

“Yeah,” Jess says again. 

 

“But you want to go for a drive?  We could run up to Clint and Laura’s; I know Clint’s home for the weekend,” Nat suggests.  “It’s upstate, like 80 miles.  Probably take 2 hours or so.”

 

“Sure,” Jess agrees. 

 

“Ok.  Let’s go,” Nat says decisively. 

 

“Just, now?”

 

“Yeah.  Come on.”  Nat stands up.  She’s wearing dark plaid pajama bottoms and a tank top.  She grabs a hoodie from the back of Jess’s desk chair and throws it on. 

 

Jess slowly gets to her feet.  She jams her phone into the back pocket of her jeans and follows Nat out the door. 

 

Jess stands dizzily against the metal wall as they take the elevator down to the garage.  Nat negotiates with FRIDAY and secures the right to borrow one of the Aston Martins for the weekend. When they reach the glossy black sports car, Jess pulls the passenger door open with a trembling hand and slides into the cold leather seat.  Nat revs the engine, and the dashboard lights up with a dim blue glow that Jess finds blurry and beautiful. 

 

“Alright,” Nat mutters as she pulls out of the garage. 

 

It’s late and there isn’t much traffic, but it will still be at least a few minutes before they get out of the city and onto a highway.  Jess reaches forward and turns on the radio.  She tunes through the stations until she finds Fall Out Boy.  She turns up the volume.

 

“Does that help?” Nat asks.

 

“Kind of,” Jess replies, pressing the side of her head against the window.  “Distracting, mostly.”

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Jess thinks for a moment.  “Hard to explain,” she says.

 

“That’s ok,” Nat says.

 

Jess takes a deep breath.  “It’s like… It’s just good…until it’s not anymore.  And then it’s everything.  All you can think about.  Even in your sleep.”  She’s slurring, her jaw trembling. 

 

“I know it’s tough,” Nat soothes, pausing at a green light to let some oblivious person wander across the street.  “Do the drugs help?”

 

Jess doesn’t answer right away.  “Does everyone know?”

 

“Steve doesn’t want to believe it,” Nat says.  “But, I mean, we know what weed smells like.  What high looks like.”

 

“Fuck,” Jess mutters.  She combs her shaking fingers through her hair and pulls it into a low ponytail with the hair tie from around her wrist.

 

“You’re not bad,” Nat insists.  “You don’t…behave like an addict.  You’ve never blown off a mission to get high.  You’re an adult; it’s your business.”

 

Jess swallows.  “I don’t know…”  She stays quiet for a moment.  The Percocet is beginning to kick in, bringing heavy warmth.  Best to try to answer Nat’s question in the moment, before lucidity begins to slip away.  “I mean, they just kind of…take my mind somewhere else.  Zoned out.  Like Nyquil.”

 

“But they don’t help you sleep?”

 

“High tolerance, I guess,” Jess says. 

 

“D’you get side effects?”  Nat presses gently as she turns onto the highway. 

 

“Not really,” Jess says.  “Bad headaches, but they happens anyway, with…everything…Might barf if it gets bad.”

 

“Good to know,” Nat says, glancing over at Jess and her slumped posture.  “Doing ok?”

 

“Fine,” Jess reports. 

 

“Ok.  Let me know,” Nat says. 

 

They drive for almost an hour, quiet except for the radio.  Jess comes in and out of awareness.  She’s relieved when she begins to gently hallucinate over the disruptive murmur still replaying in her ears.  She hadn’t been able to articulate it to Nat earlier, but it’s another benefit of the drugs.  She takes just enough to coax the strangeness inside her head into a cloud around her body. Even on heavier substances, Jess’s always hallucinated softly.  She sees different colored lights and oddly shaped shadows.  Hears songs that aren’t playing. 

 

“…on our way…need some time out of the city…”  Jess hears Nat’s voice murmuring.  “Yeah, she’s not feeling good…maybe an hour out…thanks, you’re the best…”

 

“Huh?”  Jess asks, pushing herself up from the window.  Nat’s blurry form is pressing something on the touch screen nestled in the dashboard. 

 

“Just talked to Laura,” Nat says.  “Had to tell her we were coming.”  Nat gives a wry smile. 

 

“Mm,” Jess breathes.  She pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her hands shaking.  The Celtic guitar tune in her head mixes awkwardly with Green Day coming from the stereo, and Jess slowly remembers that she’s in a moving vehicle.  She glances out the window at the dark highway and her head throbs, sending a wave of vertigo over her body.

 

“You alright?”  Nat asks. 

 

“Yeah, I’m…good,” Jess says, stopping in the middle to take a stabilizing breath. 

 

“You sure?”

 

“Yeah.  Just sort of…I don’t know…dizzy, I guess,” Jess explains.  “I’m fine.”

 

“Ok,” Nat says, a bit skeptically.  She probably thinks Jess’s going to throw up.  She’s sort of right, Jess thinks she is likely to throw up.  But she’s still in the pleasant buzz state of her high.  She’s only beginning to feel the creeping onset of nausea, the feeling that maybe she’ll be sick sometime in the next few hours, not the feeling that vomit is imminent. 

 

Nat pulls off into a rest stop and starts searching the center console.  “Ha,” she says triumphantly, coming up with a bag of quarters.  “There’s a coke machine, what do you want?”

 

“Nah, I’m good,” Jess says.

 

“Sprite?  Might settle your stomach a little,” Nat presses.  Nat’s face is illuminated in the blue dashboard light, which seems to be shifting through the range of greenish-teal to ruddy violet. 

 

“’M alright,” Jess repeats.

 

“I’ll get you some Sprite,” Nat says with finality.  She exits the car.  Jess presses her forehead to the window and watches Nat cross the parking lot to the glowing red soda machine. 

 

A minute later she’s back with a couple of bottles.  She twists the top off one and hands it to Jess.  “Here,” she says. 

 

Jess takes the damp green bottle.  She’s not thirsty, and the soda is not appealing.  She sits there as Nat swigs her diet coke.  “Just a couple sips,” Nat coaxes.

 

Jess finally brings the bottle to her lips.  It’s so heavily carbonated it burns her nose.  She’s honestly surprised cool mist isn’t floating from her mouth and ears when she swallows.  Jess coughs a couple times.

 

“You ok?”  Nat asks.

 

“Yeah, fine,” Jess replies.  She takes another small sip to prove it.  She swallows cautiously and caps the bottle.  “Tequila would be better.”  Jess nestles it in the car’s cup holder and goes back to leaning against the window. 

 

“We’ve got about an hour,” Nat says, rolling her eyes and capping her own drink.  “Think you’ll be alright?”

 

“Yeah,” Jess affirms. 

 

Nat starts the car, and Jess settles back into her semi-conscious state for the rest of the drive.

 

It seems like they’ve barely pulled into the long, bumpy country driveway and suddenly Clint’s opening the door and releasing Jess’s seatbelt.  “Hey,” he says as he pulls her to her feet. 

 

“Hm.”  It’s the best Jess can do.  Clint’s half-shadow-half-person.  He smells freshly showered, like soap and aftershave.  It’s lovely.  Also faintly nauseating. 

 

A light drizzle is falling.  Small, perfectly round droplets collect on Jess’s hair and eyelashes as Clint walks her to the front door, his arm around her waist.  They cross the threshold and step into the house where the light is significantly brighter and warmer-toned.  Jess’s eyes practically sizzle in their sockets as neon yellow overtakes her visual field.  She cringes, and Clint adjusts his arm around her.  “You ok?”

 

“Mm-hm,” Jess breathes.  Actually, her stomach’s somewhere mid-chest and her lower jaw feels like it’s hanging around her knees. 

 

Jess can feel Nat on her other side.  Not actually touching her, but close enough that Jess can feel the air displaced when Nat’s arm moves as she walks.  After a few steps through the entryway, they’re in the kitchen where very blurry Laura is doing something with a very blurry teapot. 

 

“Hey,” Laura says, setting the teapot on the stove and turning to the guests.  She pulls Jess into a gentle hug.  Jess instinctively bows her head to let it rest on the slightly shorter woman’s shoulder.  Her entire consciousness seems to erupt in throbbing.  It makes her knees feel weak. 

 

Laura pulls away to hug Nat, and Jess struggles to stay upright under her own power.  She’s hot under the neon yellow light, and her stomach’s inched up to her throat. 

 

“Alright, how are you feeling?”  Laura turns back to Jess, clasping both her clammy hands as Clint and Nat hover at each elbow. 

 

Jess feels every inch of her body trembling.  “I…” she starts before she has to swallow down bile.  “Fucking nauseous,” she mumbles.

 

“Ok, come on,” Laura says, tightly grasping Jess’s hand and steering her down the hall.  Jess can barely see where she’s going, and the path is unfamiliar.  She gags as they step through the door into the bathroom, and Laura sets her to kneel in front of the toilet. 

 

Jess retches, the sound echoing in the porcelain bowl and further disturbing her aching head. 

 

“Alright, ok,” Laura soothes.  She pets Jess’s ponytail down her back. 

 

“D’you need…?”  Nat’s voice asks from the doorway.

 

“Nah, we’re ok,” Laura says.  “You and Clint go catch up.”

 

Jess hears Nat’s footsteps as she retreats down the hall.  The sound seems to go on much longer than it should, then Jess realizes it’s the sound of her own heartbeat.  Her stomach cramps and she retches again, this time bringing up a mouthful of alcohol and foamy, chemical-tasting stomach acid. 

 

“Alright, good,” Laura intones.  She’s only 5 or so years older than Jess, but she’s a mother of 3, and she has no problem comforting this high, sick woman-child she’s met only once before. 

 

Jess folds her arms over the toilet seat and rests her forehead on her crossed wrists.  The next heave is less productive.  Thick, mucousy bile hangs from her lip and dangles into the toilet.  Another fruitless retch erupts from Jess’s throat.  It does nothing to make her feel better.  There’s nothing left for her to expel, and the strain only makes her head ache more. 

 

Jess spits, trying to break off whatever’s hanging from her mouth.  Her eyes are watering, and her nose is dripping. 

 

“Ok.  Think you’re done?”  Laura asks, gently touching each side of Jess’s shoulders to draw her slightly more upright.

 

Jess nods, sniffing.  She can feel a droplet of something clinging to the bottom of her nostril.  She brings a trembling hand up and drags it along her nose and upper lip. 

 

Laura stands up behind her.  Water runs for a moment, then she’s back on Jess’s other side, offering a damp cloth.  She wipes cold sweat from Jess’s forehead, then draws the cloth down to clean her face.  Laura folds the cloth clean-side-out and rests it across the back of Jess’s neck.  Jess draws in a shuddering breath.

 

“Alright,” Laura murmurs.  She lays a hand over the washcloth, increasing its cool pressure.  “You feeling any better?”

 

“Eh,” Jess croaks out.  She’s not overwhelmingly nauseated anymore, but her head is still throbbing sickly.  Her vision is edging into neon again.

 

“You wanna stand up?  Brush your teeth?”  Laura removes the damp washcloth, and Jess’s body is suddenly covered in goosebumps as the air hits her damp skin. 

 

“Yeah,” Jess whispers.  She despises the taste of toothpaste, but at this point, it’s probably better than stomach acid. 

 

“Ok, here we go…”  Laura slips her hands under Jess’s arms and helps her to her feet.  Once she’s level with the counter, Jess grips it to support herself.  When she’s steady, Laura releases her to flush the toilet and rummage in a cabinet.  Plastic crumples as Laura rips open a new toothbrush.  She adds toothpaste and gets the thing into Jess’s shaking hand. 

 

Jess squints at herself in the mirror as she scrubs her teeth.  Her skin is ghostly white, and there are dark circles under her eyes.  She looks horrible, like a druggie.  Jess spits into the sink and uses the paper cup Laura proffers to rinse out her mouth. 

 

Jess draws deep, slow, slightly congested-sounding breaths.  The pain in her head is emanating down her neck, into her back.  Laura throws away the cup, then asks, “What do you need?” 

 

The most honest answer would be __I don’t know__ , but Jess’s feeling idiotically slow.  Vomiting didn’t do much for clearing her system.  Her exhausted, drugged mind doesn’t take in the question, and she murmurs, “You’re married to Clint.”

 

“Yeah,” Laura replies patiently.

 

“Nat and Clint fucked one time…”

 

“Yes, dear, I’ve heard that one,” Laura says, letting out what sounds like an exhausted sigh.

 

“Hm,” Jess says.  “Then he dumped Nat and went and married you…”

 

“Do you want to lie down?” Laura asks calmly, taking Jess’s disoriented gossips as the answer to the original query.

 

Jess sighs, the remaining rational area of her brain realizing that she’s not coherent.  “Yeah,” she finally manages.

 

“Ok,” Laura says, gently rubbing Jess’s shoulder and guiding her down the hall. 

 

“Here’s the guest room.  You’re downstairs, close to the bathroom,” Laura explains.  Jess sinks onto the bed, toes her feet out of her shoes, and collapses back against the pillows.  Laura grabs a throw blanket from the footboard and spreads it over Jess’s legs.  “Comfortable?” she asks.  “You want to move the pillows or anything?”

 

“No,” Jess murmurs.  “’M good.”

 

“Ok,” Laura says.  “Need anything else?”

 

“No.”  They’re both silent for a moment.  Then Jess whispers, “Sorry.  I’m all…fucked up.”

 

“No, nothing to be sorry for,” Laura says, straightening the blanket over Jess’s feet.  “It’s ok.  It’s ok not to feel good.”

 

Jess drifts in and out, not exactly sleeping, but not quite awake.  She’s not used to being in the old farmhouse, and its creaking jars her from her daze every so often.  But apart from the groaning house, the rain on the roof, the wind pressing against the windows, it’s quiet.  Her mind is finally  

 

Sometime later, the mattress creaks and dips as someone else perches on the bed.  Jess stirs and sees Nat adjusting the pillows.  She notices Jess’s movement.  “Didn’t want to get under the covers?”  Nat asks, somewhat playful and somewhat concerned. 

 

“Hm.  Just felt shitty,” Jess explains.

 

“How’re you doing now?”

 

Jess’s pretty sure her eyes are staring in opposite directions in the dark.  Her head still hurts.  “Still…mm…”  Jess isn’t sure how to explain the dissolving high, residual migraine, and exhausted relief she’s feeling.

 

Nat gives up on turning down the bed when Jess doesn’t move.  She draws her legs up and shifts the throw blanket to cover both of them.

 

“You’re…?” Jess murmurs disjointedly.

 

“Yeah, unless it bothers you.  Could go back to the couch,” Nat says. 

 

“No, ‘s good…”

 

Nat settles, the big spoon to Jess’s little one, but doesn’t touch her.  Until a few minutes later when she’s suddenly cupping Jess’s ass.

 

“Huh?”  Jess says, jerked out of her haze.

 

“Your damn phone,” Nat says, slipping the device from Jess’s back pocket.  She hadn’t realized it was digging in as she lay on her side.

 

“Oh.”  Nat’s hand is still resting on Jess’s hip. 

 

Nat’s flirtatious by nature.  Jess’s seen her do similar things with practically everyone on the team, from Maria Hill to Tony Stark.  But she’s be lying if she said there wasn’t a tiny bit of desire behind her reaction to Nat’s action.  Jess is fluid.  Nat is mysterious. 

 

During the in-between time where the line dividing sleeping and waking, intoxicated and sober is blurred, inhibitions are low.  Jess drags herself around, hips first, to face Nat.  Nat shifts so her elbow’s on Jess’s waist, her hand wrapping around to her back.  Jess’s face is level with Nat’s collarbones.  The first kiss is to the top of Jess’s head.  She tilts her head to look up at Nat, and the second kiss lands on her forehead.  Nat scoots down so the third kiss is to Jess’s lips. 

 

Jess doesn’t remember stopping.  She does know that at some point she fell asleep, because eventually, she wakes up.  Sunlight is streaming into the bedroom and Jess is alone again.  She uncurls from her side and sprawls on her back, untangling her feet from the blanket.  It’s all of a few seconds before she’s assaulted with nausea again.  Jess sits up and stumbles down the hall to dry heave over the toilet. 

 

The nausea quickly dissolves into a slightly disorienting headache that’s part hangover and all dehydration.  Jess splashes her face with cool water.  She lets herself out of the bathroom and wanders toward the center of the house, where a soft buzzing is coming from the living room. 

 

The two older kids are watching some kind of animal show on the big screen TV.  Leila‘s on the floor, a coloring book and crayons spread in front of her.  Cooper is standing between the couch and coffee table, staring transfixed at the whale shark on the television.  They don’t notice Jess as she passes behind the couch and into the kitchen, where Nat’s at the table drinking coffee.

 

Jess sidesteps Nathaniel in his bouncer and pulls out the chair beside Nat.  “Hey,” Nat greets her.  “Did you just barf again?”

 

“No,” Jess says, her voice hoarse.  “Well, nothing came up.”

 

Laura steps away from the stove where she’s flipping pancakes.  “Still not feeling so good?”

 

Jess rests elbows on the table, draws hands into sleeves, and suspends her head between her fists.  She shakes her head at the table.  “I’ll be fine, though.  It’s all just…wearing off.”

 

Clint joins the conversation from where he’s been leaning against the door to the laundry room, winding what looks like fishing line around a large spool.  He glances into the laundry room, then says, “I’ve got at least 17 different colors of Gatorade out here, maybe one of those will help.”

 

“Sure,” Jess says. 

 

“What color?”  Clint asks.

 

“Whatever.  Not red.”

 

He sets a bottle of purple down in front of her, and Jess wraps her sweatshirt paws around it.  The first sip is acrid, but it tastes good by the second.  Her logical brain is starting to come back, and Jess knows she needs to slowly rehydrate to get herself back to normal.  She should probably eat too, but she’s still feeling too queasy for that.

 

Clint brings his spool of fishing line to the table and sits in the chair on Jess’s other side.  “I’m gonna take Lay and Coop out to the creek later, see they have enough patience for fishing,” he says. “You two are welcome to tag along.”

 

“Thanks,” Nat says, “but I think we might still need to take it easy…”

 

“You can hang out here with me and Nathaniel,” Laura offers, bringing a huge platter of pancakes to the table.  “We’ve got plenty of board games.  Or we could cruise up to the outlet mall,” she suggests.  She turns back to the counter to retrieve the butter and syrup.

 

“I didn’t mean to come up here and screw your plans,” Jess says.  “I mean, you barely know me and we drive up here so I can puke in your toilet and sleep in your bedroom…god, I’m sorry.”

 

“Oh, no, if I put one foot in moving water, I get seasick,” Laura says.  “There’s no way I’d be out fishing.  You’re not messing with anything.”

 

“And you’re doing better here than you were in the city, right?”  Clint asks. 

 

Jess nods, playing with the cap to her Gatorade.

 

“So we’re all good.  It’s good.  It’s fine.”  Clint takes a plate and starts dishing up.  “Let’s have pancakes.”

 

Laura shepherds the kids to the table, and they take seats between their parents, across from Jess and Nat. 

 

“Who’s that?”  Leila asks her father in a loud whisper.

 

Clint catches Jess’s eye and smiles.  “Auntie Nat’s new girlfriend.”

 

“Oh, shut up,” Jess says, taking a weak swat at him.  She knows he’s teasing, but she suddenly remembers what she and Nat did last night.  Jess knows Nat and Clint are close, and she wonders what he knows.  “I work with Nat and your dad,” Jess explains to the little girl.

 

“Oh,” Leila says, now occupied with a pancake.  “What kind of powers do you have?”

 

Jess takes a deep breath, not keen on the memories from yesterday that are starting to resurface. 

 

Clint takes control of the situation.  “She has super strength,” Clint says. 

 

“Do you lift cars and stuff?”  Leila presses, all childish curiosity. 

 

“Let Miss Jessica eat,” Laura admonishes, reaching over to pat her daughter’s hand.  “She hasn’t been feeling good.”

 

Jess’s embarrassed.  She feels bad for crashing their family time, no matter the reassurances Clint and Laura provide.  God knows Clint doesn’t get home often enough.  Laura doesn’t need to be distracted from time with her husband by a random girl in crisis.

 

“Here,” Nat says handing Jess a plate.  She’s loaded it up with two steaming pancakes.

 

Jess isn’t hungry.  The headache is refusing to recede and her stomach is uneasy.  She feels almost nauseous again.  She gives Nat a look.  Nat just raises her eyebrows and sets the plate down beside Jess’s Gatorade bottle.

 

“You want butter?  Syrup?”  Clint asks, his mouth full.

 

“No, thanks,” Jess answers in a whisper, trying to veil her disgust.  She picks up her fork and dismembers the edge of one of the pancakes.  It’s perfectly fluffy, a lightly griddled steaming buttermilk cloud.  Laura’s an excellent cook.  Jess just can’t bring herself to eat more than a couple of bites. 

 

The kids finish up and noisily place their dishes in the sink, and Laura scoops Nathaniel up from his bouncer and follows them upstairs.  Jess drops her elbow to the table and face-palms as she stabs her remaining pancakes with her fork.  She tries to remember the last time she ate, but comes up blank.  Maybe yesterday?  Noon-ish?  The time she spent under the influence last night into this morning has really thrown a wrench into her ability to recollect anything with accuracy.  Come to think of it, she’s not sure what time it is now.  Surely no later than mid-morning, as it’s apparently normal family weekend breakfast time. 

 

Jess is fairly sure she took Percocet on an empty stomach, which is most likely the root of the problem.  She’s also pretty sure that she’s dehydrated, and the only small sips of liquid she’s managed last night and this morning are high-sugar.  Whatever the deal is, her insides feels bubbly and acidic, and her mouth is excessively spitty.  A slight buzzing is growing louder in her ears.

 

“You ok?” Clint asks.  After depositing his own dishes in the sink, he turns back to the table and stoops beside Jess, laying a large, warm hand on her back. 

 

Jess is blinking back tears now.  It only took them 10-odd hours to finally fill her eyes.  “Sorry,” she mutters.  She wipes her eyes before the tears have a chance to start streaming. 

 

“Naw, you’re good,” Clint says.  “I know you feel like shit.”

 

Jess’s face is going numb.  She draws the back of her hand down to her mouth.  She tries to suppress the gag, but it crawls up her throat anyway.

 

“Ok, come here,” Clint says, wrapping his arm around Jess’s shoulders and pulling her upright and guiding her over the kitchen trash can.  She feels like she’s going to pass out.  Somehow, though, she ends up with her face in Clint’s shoulder, sobbing shakily into his t-shirt. 

 

“Hey, it’s alright,” he says, holding her to him. 

 

“Sorry,” Jess mutters again.

 

“You’re fine,” Clint soothes.  “Trust me, I have three kids.  If I don’t get puked on, it’s a success.”

 

“God, I’m such a mess,” Jess whispers through her tears.

 

“No, you’re fine.  I’m glad you’re here,” Clint says.  “We’re gonna get you feeling better.  Can you imagine Tony bungling around trying to help out?  Or Thor?  He’d probably pour you a wine glass full of cough syrup or some shit like that.”  Clint chuckles and pats Jess between the shoulder blades. 

 

Footsteps come down the stairs, slow and slightly heavy.  “What happened?” Laura’s voice asks.  She hands Nathaniel to Nat and comes to hover beside her husband. 

 

“We’re ok,” Clint says softly.  “Just still not feeling good.”

 

“Oh, hey, alright,” Laura murmurs.  She pats Jess’s shoulder.  “Why don’t you come lie down on the couch?”

 

Clint adjusts his arm around Jess’s waist and starts walking her to the living room.  Jess tries to move her legs, but somehow the signal is getting lost between her mind and her feet.  She struggles, confused, for a second, then her vision suddenly goes black. 

 

Jess comes to, peeling her eyes open to see a very concerned Nat hovering above her.  “Hey,” Nat says, brushing a stray piece of Jess’s hair out of her face. 

 

“Hey,” Jess whispers back, her voice croaky.  “What…?”  She’s struggling to put the pieces together, figure out how much time she lost. 

 

“You passed out,” Nat explains.  “It was probably just syncope, since you’re dehydrated and nauseous, but uh…we’re getting a little worried.”

 

“I’m ok.  It’s my fault,” Jess whispers.

 

“No, you’re not,” Nat says.  “Doesn’t matter if it’s your fault.  We’re here to help you.”  She grips Jess’s hand.

 

“How much…time did I lose?” Jess asks.

 

“Not too much, maybe five or ten minutes,” Nat reassures.  “Clint has some equipment stored here, he’s gonna try to get an IV started on you.”

 

Jess sighs.  “Fuck.”  With great effort, she pushes herself up to a sitting position, immediately fighting vertigo and placing her forehead on her knees.  “I’m fine.  Don’t need an IV.”

 

“Whoa, slow down,” Nat says.  “You’re still sick.”

 

“I just need to have something to drink.  Maybe to eat.”

 

“You had a chance,” Nat throws back, somewhere between sympathetic and frustrated.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Jess moans into her knees.  “I was just…feeling so nauseous.”

 

“Tell me you’re not nauseous now,” Nat snaps, her eye-roll apparent in her voice. 

 

“You don’t have to help me.  I’m a killer.  I’m not worth it…” Jess trails off.

 

“I’m not going to respond to that,” Nat says.  “But I am going to say that we might need to re-evaluate what you’re doing.  If you’re going to self-destruct every time there’s a civilian casualty, you’re in the wrong line of work.  The team can’t afford this.”

 

Footsteps approach, and Clint’s back.  He sets a heavy-sounding bag on the carpet and kneels beside Jess.  “What am I interrupting?” he asks.

 

“Nothing,” Jess sighs.  She leans on the arm of the couch and lifts her head.  “I’m…waiving my right to treatment.  Just…leave me alone.”  She pushes through the urge to collapse back onto the sofa and manages to find her footing.  Jess hobbles into the guest room and slams the door.  She falls onto the bed and finally burrows under the covers.  Tears dampen the pillow under her greasy hair.

 

Jess’s eyes burn.  She imagines them doused in acid, bubbling to a bloody pulp and erasing the vision darkly engraved on the back of her eyelids.  Her hands aren’t clapped down on a bloodied flannel shirt, the crunch of bone isn’t sounding in her ears…  Nausea rises for the umpteenth time, and Jess rolls over to loose a sickly burp into pillow.  She’s far too empty to bring anything up. 

 

She hasn’t slept near enough recently, but Jess still can’t sigh herself into relaxation.  She wraps her arms around her stomach and taps a slowed down guitar riff on her hip bone.  __My name is Jonas…__

__

It feels like hours are passing, but it could just as easily be minutes.  If she were home right now, back in her Hell’s Kitchen apartment or in her room in the Avengers Tower, Jess would’ve killed another bottle of jaeger by now.  But she’s not, and she hasn’t, and she’s not sure it that’s a positive or a negative. 

 

There’s a knock on the door, and Jess startles out of her funk.  Laura enters, a bottle of Pedialyte in hand.  Jess wrinkles her nose and pulls the covers up over her eyes.

 

“Alright,” Laura says, quietly yet firmly.  “This ends now, ok.”  She plumps the pillows against the headboard.  “Come on and sit up.”

 

Jess can barely believe she’s complying.  Laura’s not forceful, but she’s such a mother that Jess feels like there’s not an option to snipe at her as she’s likely to do with anyone else.

 

“Here,” Laura hands over the pale orange beverage once Jess is dizzily slumped up.

 

“Gross,” Jess comments, but wraps her hand around the cool and slightly sweaty bottle.

 

“You’re lucky we have kids, or you’d be getting the IV for sure.”

 

Jess glares over the bottom of the bottle as she takes a swig.  The fluid tastes bad, but doesn’t burn with the threat of coming back up.

 

“Ok, good,” Laura says, seeming more like she’s at her small daughter’s bedside than Jess’s.

 

“Where’s Nat?” Jess asks after swallowing a couple times to clear her palate. 

 

“Fishing,” Laura reports.  “I told her go, give you a little space.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“You really care about her, don’t you?” Laura asks, the hint of a knowing smile tainting her lips.

 

“Oh, come on,” Jess says. 

 

Laura reminds her to take another sip of fluid.  Then, “But you seem very much opposed to accepting the fact that she cares a lot about you.”

 

“She doesn’t,” Jess rebuts.  “I’m not…”

 

Laura finds Jess’s blanket-wrapped knee and places her soothing hand on it.  “Everyone who does what you do has…baggage.  There are parts of Clint that I don’t love.  But you’re not defined by everything that’s happened to you.”

 

Jess digs her fingers into the plastic of the Pedialyte bottle, stopping just before it buckles beyond repair.  “This is…” she trades hands and flexes her knuckles.  “I’m not careful.  I can’t…be trusted with anything.  Anyone.”

 

“You’re not going to hurt Natasha,” Laura says. 

 

“I will, eventually,” Jess insists.  “I need to stop trying to do this.  She was…she’s right.  I’m not cut out for this.”

 

“Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t.  But you’ve barely started.  And you’ve got a lot of good reasons to keep trying before you give up.”

 

“One reason, you mean,” Jess says skeptically.  “I killed someone yesterday.  Why are you still trying to set me up on a date?”

 

“Because if anyone knows how you’re feeling, it’s that girl,” Laura says.  “I know you don’t quite believe me yet, but you’ve got potential there.”

 

“Right.”  Jess takes a spiteful sip of her drink.

 

“I’ll tell you a secret, ok?”  Laura says.  “Eight, ten years ago, Nat was not stable.  She was a brilliant, high-strung mess.  She took a lot of risks.  She’s trying to take better care of you than she did of herself.  She gets bristly because she’s scared.  I think she’s scared to lose you.”

 

“Fuck,” Jess sighs. 

 

“Yeah, it’s a lot,” Laura agrees.  “A lot for today.”  She lets a moment of silence pass, then moves to more pressing topics.  “How’re you doing?  That feel like it’s staying down?”  She gestures at the half-finished bottle.

 

“Yeah, I think so,” Jess says.  “God, I’m really sorry.  I didn’t mean to come crash your life like this…”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Laura replies.  “I don’t think I’ll be up to doing this very often, but you’re not a burden.  Our home is always open to you.”

 

Jess sips the Pedialyte again and stifles a belch into her hand.  It’s not a sick one now, just the product of swallowing too quickly.  “Jesus, I’m disgusting…”

 

“You’re fine,” Laura laughs.  “But it you’re ready for a shower and a change of clothes…”

 

“Yes,” Jess agrees.  She’s lost track of how long it’s been since she’s done any self-care.  A day, at least.

 

“Come on,” Laura gives Jess an arm to lean on as she sweeps her legs to the floor and tests her balance.  “There are plenty of towels, shampoo, all that stuff.  I’ll grab some of my clothes for you to borrow.”

 

“Thanks,” Jess murmurs as she crosses the threshold into the bathroom.  A hazy memory crosses her mind, and she calls, “Hey, Laura?”

 

Laura stops halfway down the hall.  “Yeah?”

 

“I’m really sorry about what I said.  Last night.  I…was messed up, and, well, I shouldn’t’ve…”

 

“It’s ok.  I, uh, I know what happened with Nat and Clint.  It’s ok.  It was a long time ago.  And now we’re focusing on today.”

 

“Ok.”  Jess half-smiles.  “Thanks.”

 

Two hours later, cleaned-up Jess is sitting at the kitchen table sipping tea and nibbling buttered toast, watching Laura give Nathaniel a bottle.  The whole house seems to start buzzing, and Jess looks around in alarm.

 

“It’s the garage door,” Laura laughs.  “I told Clint we should get a quieter one.”

 

Barely a moment after the clattering’s ceased, Leila and Cooper come running in, all sun-kissed cheeks and ruffled hair.  Clint follows holding a cooler that’s already making the kitchen smell fishy. Nat brings up the rear, dressed in Laura’s jeans and Jess’s hoodie, and looking happier than Jess has ever seen her. 

 

“How’re you feeling?” Nat asks.

 

“A lot better,” Jess reports. 

 

“Good,” Nat says.  She reaches out like she’s going to pat Jess’s shoulder, but Jess intercepts her, stretching out her own fingers and interlacing them with Nat’s.

 

“I’m glad we came here,” Jess murmurs.

 

Nat looks down at their entwined hands and smiles.  “Me too.”

 

Across the table, Leila’s tugging on Laura’s sleeve.  “Is Auntie Nat gonna stay for the fish fry?  And, and her girlfriend?”

 

“What do you think?” Nat asks Jess.

 

“Sure, I guess.”  Jess bites her lip, then lets her face break into a grin.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope it was ok... I had fun with it.


End file.
